Small Town Talk
by Stand In Girl
Summary: "You know, there's a different way to go about this," Wade says. "If you can't beat the gossipers—" And he kisses her. W/Z
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Small Town Talk  
**Rating:** T_  
_**Summary:** Zoe tries to deal with Bluebell's gossiping and nosiness. Wade has an idea._  
_**Disclaimer:** Although their scene together in the finale could have been something out of my imagination, I still don't own them. _  
_

* * *

_Let's give them something to talk about,  
A little mystery figure out._  
- Bonnie Raitt, Something To Talk About

* * *

Zoe Hart is not used to small towns.

In New York, you could walk down the street in nothing but stilettos and your underwear, and all anyone would think was that you were trying to be the next Lady Gaga. A flood of tourists would overtake you and they'd take pictures and think you _were_ Lady Gaga, because who knows what she actually looks like, anyway?

No one watched what Zoe did in New York, unless she was with one of her mom's celebrity clients, and then she had the exhilarating experience of dodging paparazzi and ducking into exclusive clubs. Her picture may have ended up in a few magazines, but she was always on the fringe of the frame, and it wasn't _her_ wild side they were trying to catch—not that Zoe Hart has much of a wild side, anyway.

New York is filled with thousands of lonely, crazy, ambitious people all hoping to force their dreams out of their heads and into reality. Those people don't have the time or the patience to care about one doctor in a tsunami of oncoming foot-traffic.

Bluebell is another beast entirely. The first time Zoe realizes it is when a little old lady she doesn't know walks straight up to her and says, "I hope you put a tight leash on that Kinsella boy."

Zoe stops walking, her Pierre Hardy heels digging into the clay road because God forbid Bluebell pave anything. She peers down at the old lady, wondering how one face can have so many wrinkles. "I'm sorry?"

"That Wade Kinsella. You've got to keep an eye on him!"

With that, the lady scuttles away, and Zoe chews her lip as she stares at the old woman's hunched figure. The only part Zoe understands about the warning is that it concerns one of the four people she knows in this town. It also concerns the person whose lap she crawled into on that first, rough day in Bluebell. She doesn't think Mrs. Wrinkles has any idea about that, and she can only conclude that heat-induced confusion or possibly even dementia has overtaken the kindly southern lady.

Then she spots George sitting outside of the Rammer Jammer, and the strange encounter slips from her mind. She walks over, avoiding George's gaze and moving slowly—meandering really. Once she gets to his table, she makes a show like she just saw him.

"Oh, _hey_," Zoe says. George looks up from his scrambled eggs and grits and smiles.

"Hey, stranger," he says, his Southern accent softer than some in this town (particularly his fiancée). "How's it going?"

She sidles up next to him, feels her smile get wide and flirtatious even as she resists the desire to smack herself on the forehead.

"It's going," she says. "Brick is still freezing me out, and I haven't convinced anyone to come see me. But at least all the dirty looks stopped after I placed at the gumbo contest."

"That was some mighty fine cooking," George says, taking another bite of his grits and then wiping his mouth with a thin paper napkin. "So fine I'd say you didn't make it yourself."

Zoe swings her hip out to the side, places her hand on the crook of it and tries to look scandalized. "Hey! I'll have you know that was my great, great grandmother's secret gumbo recipe."

"Your great, great grandmomma must have spent time in the South then," George said, but his eyes and his smile are knowing.

"Maybe she did," Zoe says. Her stance relaxes and her voice dips lower. "Obviously the women in my family have an affinity for men from the South." He looks at her, opens his mouth like he's uncertain, and she quickly adds, "My mom's affair."

"Right," George says, and his eyes crinkle around the edges. "I'm real sorry about your trouble, Zoe. It's too bad you didn't get a chance to know Dr. Harley. He was a great man."

"So I've heard," she says.

He scoops up the rest of his eggs and places his grits bowl on top of his plate. "I'd ask you to join me, but I've got to get back to the office. You take care of yourself, Zoe Hart."

"And if you need someone to take care of you, you know where my office is," Zoe replies.

She can't help watching him as he goes, can't help admitting that it's a nice view. She remembers how her peril at the teeth of an alligator interrupted his run, and she knows he must have a nice, firm—

"I do believe you're droolin', Miss Hart."

"Doctor," she corrects automatically, a snippy habit she picked up the day she finally, _finally_ graduated from medical school. She turns toward her neighbor. Wade is in plaid, which she's starting to think is the only pattern he owns, and he's got a tray of dishes in his hands. As she watches, he picks up George's plate and bowl and dumps them at the top of the tray.

"You know, I think you've got what's medically referred to as the hots for our dear lawyer."

"I don't have the hots," Zoe says, frowning at him. "Who even says that anymore?"

He sets the tray down and wipes his hands on a dish towel thrown over his shoulder. "You know it's a hopeless case, right? He and Lemon been together since we were kids."

"Well, it's a good thing I have no intention of going after him," Zoe answers. "Or anyone in this town, for that matter. I'm only here for a year, and then I'm going back to the city."

"Right, that fellowship you been working for your whole life," he says. "I remember you sayin' somethin' about that."

"Right before you assaulted me with your lips."

He makes a shushing sound through his straight, even teeth. "Careful, doc. Don't want anyone 'round here gettin' the wrong idea."

She shakes her head, but his warning calls to mind the strange lady on the street. She knows small towns move slower and the people in them have time to be nosier. Still, she doesn't think anyone can really gather anything from this little exchange with Wade. "Whatever. If you'll excuse me, I have some people to save."

He grins full-out now, the same one he gave her that first night, when she told him he could charm the pants off any girl in town but her. "Sure you do. Well, _Dr_. Hart, I wish you the best'a luck."

He picks up the dishes and carts them off. Zoe watches him for a moment, admitting that he looks pretty perfect in those faded jeans. Then she shakes herself and walks back to her practice.

* * *

She's working up a good pout later at the Rammer Jammer when Wade strides up from the back and sets a glass down in front of her. It's filled to the brim with an electric blue liquid that kind of looks like his eyes when he stares at the hot Alabama sun.

"Trust me, doc, you need it," Wade says.

Normally Zoe would question him. Normally she would demand a list of the contents, the proof of the alcohol and a calorie count of each component. Now she just picks up the drink and sucks a third of it down this stupid little twisty straw she can't imagine even the Rammer Jammer taking seriously. The mixture tastes like it looks—sugary and artificial, with a bite of pure electricity.

"Now tell me your troubles," Wade says, spreading his hands out wide like she's come to worship at the altar of his backwoods bar.

"I will when I get my voice back," Zoe says hoarsely. She thunks the glass down on the bar again. "This town sucks."

He makes a little whistling sound through his teeth. "Careful, doc. There are ears everywhere."

She looks around and she realizes there aren't just ears but eyes—eyes everywhere, their black little pupils pointed straight in her direction. Everyone looks away to talk amongst themselves when they catch her perusing them, and she only now realizes how silent the bar had been when she walked in.

"Great," she says, and takes another huge gulp of her drink. "Now everyone's really going to hate me."

"You know, I think we could give them something better to talk about."

He waggles his eyebrows at her and she grabs the stupid twisty straw and throws it at him. He catches it and tosses it back, and she ducks. The little straw soars across the bar and meets its grave amid the abandoned beer bottles on the other side of the room. His grin mirrors hers.

"That's not funny," she says.

"It would be funnier if it wasn't true," Wade agrees.

"I'm serious," she says. "What's it take to fit into this town? I've been in the parade—"

"You _ruined_ the parade."

"—I've made the gumbo—"

"We both know you didn't make the gumbo."

"—I've delivered a baby at an engagement party—"

"That one's all you."

"And _still_ nobody came to see me today. They're rather wait an hour for Brick than take a chance on me."

"Well, everyone's talkin' about you," he offers, and she stares at him. "If it helps."

"It doesn't," she says. "Are they really?"

"Well, yeah," The church social smile spreads out over his face. "You ain't never been in a small town, have you, doc?"

"You're always surprised by things that really aren't surprising."

"Listen up, because this is your first lesson," He holds up a finger, and she's distracted by his hands. They're tan, and his fingers are nice and long. No dirt under the nails either, which she would have expected. "Small towns talk. Especially when some tiny thing in designer duds swooshes in here and turns out to be the illegitimate daughter of a well-respected man. Girl, they're gonna follow you around like flies."

For a while, she just stares at him. Finally she says, "How do I make this stop?"

"Leave town," he answers. She bundles up her napkin and throws it at him. He catches it and drops it behind the bar. "Otherwise, you're plum out of luck. You'll just have to roll with it."

"Whatever," she says finally, and takes another deep swallow of her drink. "They'll lose interest soon. I can't be _that_ fascinating."

"Whatever you say, Dr. Hart."

* * *

_Next chapter: Wade's idea! Reviews are lovely._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

_"People are talking, talking 'bout people,_  
_I hear them whisper, you won't believe it."_

* * *

She should have realized how well Wade knew this town. After Magnolia Breeland ends up passed out cold in front of her house and Wade strides out half-naked to help, Zoe sees a lot more raised eyebrows. She knows Rose would rather stab herself than betray Zoe, but apparently that doesn't go for the rest of Rose's schoolmates.

Zoe hasn't had high schoolers gossiping about her since—well, high school. But she and Wade are walking down the street, arguing about sweet tea versus green tea of all the stupid things ("No wonder you're so bitter, doc!"), and a gaggle of kids walks by and hoots and hollers like she and Wade are having sex right there on the sidewalk.

She just kind of stares after them as the boys whistle and the girls giggle behind demure hands. Then one of the braver boys yells out, "Way to go, Wade!" and another catcalls, "Kiss her!"

"This town can't be serious," she says, her mouth hanging open wide enough to catch the massive flies that breed in this part of the world.

"C'mon, baby," he says, slinging an arm around her waist. "We don't have to hide it anymore."

She pushes him off. "Ugh, stop! You'll just make it worse."

He places a smacking kiss on her forehead and when she looks up at him, she can see he knows exactly what he's doing.

* * *

The eyes are on her in the bar again, but this time she's too drunk to even give a damn. Let them watch, she thinks, and hikes her skirt halfway up her thighs.

"You tryin' to tempt me, doc?"

"My life has become a reality show," she says, her expression fighting between dismay and disgust. "I'm a spectacle just like those tan, trashy people from Jersey. I _hate_ Jersey!"

He leans in close enough that she can smell the spearmint lifesaver he's twirling around on his tongue. "You want a tip? Stop being so interesting."

"How do I do that?" she says, matching his low whisper. "If it involves dressing like Lemon, I'd rather remove my own appendix."

"That wasn't the final?" he asks, his grin moving farther up the right side of his face.

"How can her name even be Lemon?" Zoe asks, ignoring him. "It's a fruit, for God's sake, and it's not even a good one. You know what a lemon does?"

"Compliments a tequila shot?"

"No," she answers, then rethinks. "Well, yes. But a lemon is bitter. It makes you scrunch up your face and wish you never put it in your mouth in the first place."

"Doc," he says.

"Shut up. And pour me another drink."

"You want a lemon in it?"

She makes a scratchy noise in the back of her throat. He pours her another vodka—the Goose she had him dig around in the back to find—and Sprite, and she notices how much more soda there is than liquor. He sets the clear drink down in front of her and adds a straw.

"You sure you can handle it, doc?"

"Considering it's three-fourths carbonated sugar, I think so."

She's wrong. When she finishes the drink and stands up, the bar, Wade and the townspeople all start dancing circles around her. She takes a step and nearly twists her ankle on her 4-inch heels.

With all the moving everything is doing, she doesn't realize Wade is actually coming toward her until he takes her arm.

"Come on, city girl," he says.

"Hey, _hey_," she protests. "I'm fine. I can make it home on my own."

"There're a lot of things you can probably do on your own, doc, but you can't make it back to the plantation this drunk in those shoes."

She looks around the bar and realizes the way they're all studying her, like she's a bear on a tightrope in a tutu. She lets him lead her to the door, because it's better to have them gossip about her and Wade than about her being a sloppy drunk.

Once she gets outside, it's a different story. She's stubborn when she's sober, and the liquor doesn't make her any more obliging.

"I can make it from here," she says, pulling out of his grasp and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Zoe, get in the car," he says, and she can tell he's doing some deep breathing in order not to toss her over his shoulder. A wise choice on the whole, since she would probably puke on him.

"Are you kidding me? I'm not getting into your—your sin machine!"

"That's not what you said last time," he says, and pushes closer to her. She backs up against his car, but part of her is remembering the feel of his lips and the friction of their bodies when she curled up on his lap.

"See, when you look at me like that, that's how I _know_ you're drunk as a skunk."

She realizes her thoughts might have been building into the expression on her face, and she scrunches up her nose. "What way? Shut up. Drive me home."

With that, she gets in the car. His laugh chases after her.

* * *

Shelley latches onto her in church. Zoe started coming to church in the first place because it was the only time everybody in Bluebell gathered together and remained silent. But no, Shelley turns over her church program and scribbles on it with one of those tiny, eraserless pencils stored on the back of each pew.

_You and Wade. The heat wave. Details, now._

"Shelley," Zoe hisses, but she feels the heat rising up her face. She didn't sleep with him, of course, but she thought a lot about it on the long day building up to that almost-kiss in the rain. Those thoughts twist around her head now, piecing together images that are going to send her straight to Hell.

Shelley takes the program back and writes another note.

_His hands were nice, right? I just bet they were. _

Zoe crumples up the program and sets it on the empty seat next to her. Shelley makes a tiny sound of disappointment, but turns her eyes back to the reverend. Zoe is finally starting to feel calm and wholesome again when the big, loud doors open.

Every single person turns around, and Zoe feels smug that it wasn't her misstep this time. She's also pleased she's not the only one who didn't know about the noisy doors.

"'Scuse me, sorry," she hears, and her blood runs as cold as Agnes's sweet tea. "Sorry, folks, my alarm clock didn't go off."

She refuses to turn around and look at him. If she doesn't look, she can't confirm that it's Wade, and that somehow, some way, he's doing this to mess with her. In front of the whole town, no less.

But she doesn't need to turn around, because he scoots in right next to her. The empty space to her left was small, and he's wedged tightly between Zoe's side and the arm on the end of the pew—a fact he doesn't seem to mind one bit. The flush that started climbing Zoe's cheeks earlier turns into a fire, scorching up her throat and over her face.

She doesn't dare look at him, but she digs her elbow hard into his side. He grabs her forearm to ward her off, and she jerks out of his grip. People in the pews nearest to them start looking around, and Zoe does her best to settle down and ignore him. A hard thing, when his lean, hard thigh is butting right up against hers and his arm is practically draping over into her lap.

He moves around and pulls the crumpled pamphlet out from under him. She reaches for it, but he holds it just out of reach, raising his eyebrows in a look that asks how far she'll go to get it. He's completely comfortable here, surrounded by people he's known his whole life. He doesn't care about their judgment. To her it's raw and terrifying.

She gives up reaching for the paper and he unfurls it, garnering a few more looks in their direction. She can read their thoughts in their eyes: Zoe Hart and Wade Kinsella using _church_ to flirt!

His laughter shakes him like a foamy soda bottle under a tight cap. He crumples the pamphlet again, and this time he really does drape his arm in her lap. His fingers tap a little pattern on her thigh, and it takes her far too long to muster up the will to slap him off.

Luckily there were only about twenty minutes left of the service when Wade sauntered in—still in plaid and blue jeans, his standard bar uniform. She doesn't have to deal with him long, and then she's up and flying out of the church before anybody can ask her anything.

She can't avoid him, though; he finds her so quickly she wonders if he's not part hunting dog.

"You sure left in a hurry, doc!" he says, flinging on arm over her shoulders. Just for a second, she considers giving in. It feels nice right there, tucked up into the crook of his arm. Then she scoffs and shoves him off of her.

"Why are you doing this?" Zoe demands. "You realize getting the whole town to believe we're sleeping together won't actually make it happen, right?"

"I'm not tryin' to sleep with you, Zoe," Wade answers. He tugs on a strand of her hair, his hands gentle now. "You gotta learn not to let it bother you."

"Oh, so you're saying you're trying to help me? Just because you don't care—"

"You think it never got to me?" he interrupts, his voice a pitch lower. "Havin' everybody watch me all the time, waitin' to see if I'd turn into my daddy?"

She doesn't have an answer to that. She bumps her shoulder against his in a way that could have been an accident, but really isn't. He bumps back.

"Or that nobody talked about Lemon when George ran off to New York City? Not to mention the best gossip this town got in years—Alice Breeland leavin' her husband and daughters to become an actress."

She's starting to understand the point, and she supposes she's been a little self-centered, thinking they only talk about her. "Okay, I get it. Bluebell gossips about its own people just as much as it does outsiders."

"Don't get me wrong, doc," Wade said, and this time his grin's a little wicked. "The rumor's mills 'bout blew up with excitement the day you stepped foot in town. George Tucker droppin' you off, no less."

People are streaming out of church still, and a group of older women pass by and eye Wade and Zoe. The women settle on a green bench not far away, and they don't even try to pretend they're not eavesdropping. Zoe shakes her head in exasperation.

"You know, there's a different way to go about this," Wade said, leaning in close and dropping his voice low.

She raises an eyebrow. "How's that?"

"If you can't beat them..." he answers, and he kisses her.

It only lasts a second, enough for the ladies on the bench to see without offering a free show to the whole town. She blinks slowly when he pulls back, and he runs a light thumb over the line of her jaw.

"You're lucky I get what you're doing," she says finally, glancing around like she's looking for spies. She takes a deliberate step away.

"Always quick on the uptake, doc."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

_"They keep saying  
we stand just a little too close,  
__we laugh just a little too loud,  
__we stare just a little too long."_

* * *

She can't lie. She's having fun with this. She and Wade are outside the Rammer Jammer, having lunch, and she's finally starting to spread out and enjoy her space on stage. Each move with him is methodically calculated to make them look like lovers who aren't all that good at keeping a secret.

She finally feels like she has some control in this town. She knows exactly what everyone's talking about when they look at her and whisper behind their hands. By directing their attention, she feels like she's earned back a small piece of her privacy.

"You look happier, doc," Wade says.

"Haven't you heard the gossip?" she asks, crossing her legs and raising a brow. "I'm getting laid."

He goes still for a second, his fork halfway to his mouth. "Y'know, it doesn't just have to be a rumor."

"Sure it does," she says, and gives him a light kick with the toe of her suede pump.

"C'mon, doc, don't you miss it?"

"Miss what?"

"Sex."

She freezes, a few stray shrimp falling out the back of her po' boy. "I—it's—it's just not a huge priority, okay?"

From the expression on his face, it's like she just said she throws kittens into oncoming traffic.

"Aw, doc," Wade says, and he strokes the back of her hand with a light finger. "Whoever you were with before, he was doin' it wrong."

She puts her sandwich down and takes a big gulp of water. When she's finished, she says, "Not that it's any of your business, but he was—it was fine. But we met in medical school and then we were both doing our residency, and it's not like we had a lot of _time_ and—and like I said, it's none of your business."

"Right," Wade says. She braces herself, grips the table in preparation for more teasing, but it doesn't come. "You gonna finish that?"

She hands the plate to him.

* * *

The mayor's having a party at his place, a fancy black-tie affair complete with hors d'oeuvres, champagne and a string quartet in the background. As a New York City socialite and the daughter of a celebrity event planner, Zoe has to say she's impressed. It's not one of her mother's parties at the Hilton, but it's a hell of an achievement for Bluebell, Alabama.

Surprisingly, the people of Bluebell seem to be enjoying the swank and glamour, proving that they're not all as homegrown as they claim. From what Zoe can gather, this is some sort of annual mayoral event, and all the women have exactly one fancy dress that they buy in Mobile and wear on this occasion.

Zoe had four outfits lined up for tonight, and she finally decided on a red satin Alexander McQueen that she'd worn when she was introduced to Prince William and Kate Middleton. The gown is floor-length, with cap sleeves and a nice, deep neckline. Looking around at the sequins and polyester, Zoe feels like Mariah Carey's wedding ring; the real deal, but gaudy all the same.

"You look perfect," says a voice close to her ear, and she turns to see her friendly, fuse box-blowing neighbor. He's in a tux and looks pretty spectacular, despite the shoulders of his suit being too wide and his sleeves hanging a little long.

He stands close, resting his hand on her back for a second before pulling away. Wade has been surprisingly willing to play out this whole charade. She gives him a peck on the cheek, eyeing their observers over his shoulder.

"I stick out like a sore thumb," Zoe says when she pulls back. "And trust me, I treat sore thumbs. They really do stick out."

"More like a 40-pound bass when all your buddies hook catfish," Wade corrects. She just stares at him. "A good catch, doc. A real good catch."

"That's the nicest way anybody's compared me to a fish," she says, but her hand finds his shoulder. "Thanks, Wade."

He keeps on staring at her, until finally he says, "What are you doing here?"

She frowns. "Lavon invited me, and I have to admit, when I heard 'black tie' I was pretty—"

"No," he interrupts, tucking his hands in his pockets and managing to look just as aw-shucks charming as he does in a plaid shirt and jeans. "I mean here. In this town."

She realizes what he means and smoothes out invisible wrinkles from her dress. "I wasn't trying to look like I don't belong. I just wanted people to know I took it seriously—"

"You're too big for Bluebell," he says.

"Ohemgee, don't you look amazing?" says an excited voice just brushing the edge of adolescence. Rose appears at Zoe's shoulder, wearing another of Zoe's 4 choices; a blue silk number that flows like water all the way down to the floor. "And you two are just the cutest couple Bluebell's ever laid eyes on."

Zoe looks at Wade, who smiles but says nothing.

"Let me get a picture of this for my blog!" Rose continues, pulling a small digital camera out of her Gucci clutch—also Zoe's. "C'mon, y'all, get closer!"

Wade puts his hand around Zoe waist, and she leans into him. They both smile, but he's suddenly a little reserved, buried deep in his own head.

"Thanks!" Rose says, tucking the camera away again.

"You should probably just leave that out," Zoe says. "You'll want a lot of pictures of tonight. And you look beautiful, Rose."

Rose beams and hugs Zoe right there, all impulse and youthful excitement. Then she rushes off to thank the mayor for letting her come.

"You know he gave her a press pass for tonight?" Zoe says, watching Lavon bend down to meet Rose's level. "She nearly went out of her mind, she was so excited. It's no wonder he's mayor of this town."

"Zoe," Wade says. She turns toward him. "You wanna get out of here?"

She looks around at the Mobile dresses, at the way everyone's edging glances at her like she's escargot and all they want are some po' boys.

"Okay," she says. She knows everyone will see them leaving together, but isn't that their little game, anyway? He drapes his arm at the curve of her back and leads her to the door. They walk back to their houses, silence stretching out between them.

"Think Lavon will mind?" Zoe says finally.

"I think Lavon's concentrating too much on keeping his eyes off Lemon."

Zoe stops walking, her eyes stretching wide. "What?"

"He doesn't know I know. I probably shouldn't have said anything."

"Lavon and Miss Sour Puss?" Zoe says in disbelief, and starts walking again. "But he's so sweet and accommodating, and she's so... Lemon."

"Well, opposites attract and all that."

She looks at him again, but there isn't any hidden agenda in his eyes. She doesn't think the comment meant anything more than what was on the surface.

"Hey, doc, you wanna watch a movie or something?"

She fingers the waistline of her dress. "Okay. Just let me change."

"Okay. But Zoe?"

She looks at him.

"You sure do look pretty in that dress."

Zoe Hart has been given a lot of compliments in her life. She's been called every synonym of beautiful, in multiple languages, and once she was approached by a representative from Elite Model Management. But for some reason, none of those compliments hit as deep as being told she sure does look pretty in her satin party dress.

"Thanks."

He grabs her hand, pulls her around to him and kisses her. Her heart starts thumping up against her ribcage and her fingers spread out on his chest, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

He pulls back, lets her go.

"Just in case anybody was watchin'," he says.

* * *

She settles back on Wade's couch, pulling up her legs and crossing them in front of her. Wade pops the DVD into the player and they watch the movie mostly in silence, some action flick that must have come out during the last few years when she didn't have any time for movies. About partway through, Zoe slouches down, and they come close enough that their shoulders brush.

She looks up at him, and he seems pretty engrossed in the convoluted plot unfolding before him. She thinks of how contradictory he is, how helpful he can be even as he pretends he's not. He has an easy sort of goodness about him, and he doesn't flaunt it. She wonders, with her white lab coat and her snappy habit of correcting her title, how she measures up.

"What is it, doc?" he asks, not looking away from the movie.

"You're a surprising person," she answers. He looks down at her, and she realizes she underestimated their closeness.

A storm builds in the gap between them. The lightning flashes and the thunder rattles their bones, and she doesn't have the power to stop this anymore than she can control a hurricane.

He leans in, takes her mouth—doesn't ask permission for it. One hand tangles deep in her hair and the other burrows under her oversized sweater. She gives in with the same sort of hazy shock as the last time he kissed her—unexpected but not unwelcomed. He leans into her, but not too much, and his hands don't stray past their cradle at the curve of her spine. She's struck by the way ingrained chivalry wars with physical need; makes a Southern man take what he wants but then second guess himself, hold back.

She blooms in the moment of his hesitation, her hands on his shoulders to ease him back. She pulls herself with him, stretched flat over that toned, tanned body he's so willing to bare to the hot sun.

She feels the moment coming on, the one that makes her pull away from him. The first time it was a shrill horn on a still night; the second was a sudden rain amidst an ocean of heat. He breaks his hold on her lips and looks at her, and she can see he's expecting it too. They've never gotten past this point.

She ducks her head and takes his lips again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

_"Maybe they're seeing something we don't, darlin'."  
_

* * *

The rumor mills are whirling again. Nobody's quite sure what Wade Kinsella and Zoe Hart had going on, but it's clear there's trouble. She hasn't stopped by the Rammer Jammer in over a week, and he's been moping around, giving people the wrong orders and jumping every time a little brunette walks through the door.

"You wanna talk about it?" Shelley asks Wade, balancing a platter of empty glasses on her hip.

Wade doesn't look up from the bar. "Nothin' to talk about."

Shelley hesitates, fidgets with one of the straws in the empty cups. "I could talk to her for ya, see what's going on in her head."

"Whatever's going on in her head, it's not about me," Wade answers. He finally pauses and looks up at her.

"Wade—"

"Just leave it, Shell."

"But you _like_ her. I can see that you do."

"Doesn't matter," Wade says. He stops pretending to work and just goes still. "Once she gets her year of experience, that girl's gonna leave hear faster than one of Larry Henderson's hound dogs, and there's nothin' anybody can do to stop her."

Shelley puts the dishes down, comes around the counter and squeezes his shoulder.

"If it makes you feel better, we all think you're somethin' special."

Wade covers her hand with his, and then slides out of her grip. "Table 5 looks ready to order."

Shelley shrugs her shoulders and heads off, just as the doors open. Zoe Hart saunters in, little hips swinging, and the entire bar seems to collectively inhale. She must feel it, and he can see her back straighten, but she doesn't give any other acknowledgement. She settles in at the bar and Wade knows everybody's waiting for his next move.

"What can I get you, stranger?" he asks, leaning his forearms against the bar.

"I—" she opens her mouth, closes it and looks down at her hands. Her nails are painted a sleek red, but the dress she's wearing is typical black. "Can we talk? Outside?"

"Like that'll help," he mutters, glancing around at their audience. Then he leads her out the back, to the employees' parking lot.

"So?" he prompts.

"So," she begins, and now she's twisting her hands, those bright red nails winding into each other. "So I know things have been really weird between us, and I'm kind of hoping—well, I kind of want it to stop."

"You want it to stop," he repeats.

"Well, it's not like it's a big deal, is it?" she says, and her eyes are wide and anxious when she looks up at him. "I mean, it was just a thing, and it happened, and we—we can still be friends, right?"

He doesn't know which to focus on—that she's dismissing their night together or that she's worried about losing his friendship. The latter is sweet, if a little psychotic, and he can't help reassuring her.

"We're fine," he says.

"Right," she answers after a minute. "I mean, I'm sure you deal with this all the time, right? Being that you're—"

"A slut?"

"No," she answers hurriedly. "Just, y'know, open?"

"All the damn time," he says. Then he shakes his head. "We're fine, doc. If you want to pretend it didn't happen, we can do that."

"I mean," she stops, takes a deep breath, and he loves seeing her so rattled—even though she's driving him insane. "Isn't that what you want to do?"

"I want to do it again," he answers, and her mouth drops open. "In a hundred ways, in a hundred places. And then I want to take you to dinner, or to the movies, or to the carnival in Mobile. If any of that appeals to you, you gimmie a call, doc."

He drops a kiss on her forehead and leaves her standing open-mouthed in the employee parking lot of the Rammer Jammer.

* * *

"It's okay to admit you're with him, you know."

"With who?"

"Wade."

"I'm not, Lavon. It's—it's just an act."

"So kissing outside of the Rammer Jammer, having lunch every day, leaving my party early—that's all just fake?"

"Yes."

"So you're not sleeping with him."

"I..."

"It's okay to admit you're with him."

"I'm not. It's just an act."

* * *

"Hey, where the amoxicillin? I need some for Bobby Jones."

Brick looks from up from the mass of paperwork on the desk. "The amoxicillin's in the storage room, third drawer to the right. Like always."

"Right, thanks," Zoe says, turning to go.

"But you should know, Bobby Jones left an hour ago, and he came in for a flu shot."

Zoe stops and turns back. "Wait, what? Then who's in my exam room?"

Brick raises his eyebrows, peering out at her over his thick-rimmed reading glasses. "You should probably figure that out, Dr. Hart."

She goes back to her patient and subtly checks the file on her desk—which is _Ricky_ Jones (no relation to Bobby). She goes over Ricky's symptoms again just to be sure she didn't get the diagnosis wrong too. Then she bundles up the antibiotics and shuffles Ricky out of her exam room before she can make any other silly mistakes.

It's been like this all day. Forgetting patients, fudging diagnoses; she's lucky nothing truly serious has come through the door. Then again, perhaps serious injuries are what she needs. She never made a mistake at the hospital—maybe the monotony of Bluebell gives her too much time to think.

She goes back to the waiting room, is about to check in with Addie when Wade Kinsella strolls through the door. He gives her a slow, easy smile, and it's enough to get a flush starting in her cheeks. She stops halfway to Addie's desk, so she's just suspended awkwardly in the middle of the waiting room.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," he answers.

"Hey," Addie says, to no avail.

"What are you doing here?" Zoe asks.

He tilts his head. "I have an injury. Very urgent. Needs some doctorin'."

She gestures over her shoulder to Brick's office. "Brick would be happy to—"

He shakes his head and walks into her exam room. She huffs a sigh and follows him inside, not daring to look at Addie.

"So what's the injury?" Zoe says, clipboard in hand, trying like hell to be professional.

He settles down on her table, sitting sideways with his legs facing her. "Come look," he answers.

She reluctantly takes one step forward, and it's enough to put her within arm's reach of him. He grabs her wrist and tugs her hand to his chest.

"It's all broken," he says, and flattens her fingers over his heart.

It's stupid, and cliché, and damn if she isn't helplessly charmed by it. She stands there a minute, floundering, her mouth hanging open. He looks at her like he knows exactly what he's doing to her.

"Doc?"

"Huh?"

"What should I do about it?"

This is her moment, she knows. Her moment to send him away, to tell him to stop wasting her time-that this, _them_, is just not going to happen. The story of Zoe and Wade ends right here, with his stupid ploy to get her attention and her stomping all over his supposedly broken heart.

Then a dangerous thought wiggles into her brain: Why not? Why can't they play out the Zoe and Wade story? Bluebell is so country it's painful, but its townspeople aren't stupid. Maybe they're even smarter than Zoe in some ways, and they saw this coming from the beginning.

"When did this town start being right about us?" she asks.

"They were never wrong, doc."

She pulls her hand away. "But we don't make any sense."

"It's not science, Zoe. It's not gonna add up all nice and neat."

"That's math," she says, but doesn't resist when he grabs her hand again and pulls her closer. His knees brush against her abdomen, and he puts her hand back to his heart.

"How's my heartbeat?" he says. She presses her fingers into his skin, counts the beats.

"Fast," she answers.

"And yours?"

It's pounding at the pulse of her throat—quick and fluttery as a bird. "Faster."

"Then what's the problem?" he says, his voice low and just for her.

"I—"

He kisses her before she can answer, which is lucky for her because one, she had nothing to say and two, _he's kissing her_. He' still sitting, which makes him level with her height. She doesn't fight him when he tugs her nearly into his lap.

"I have a question," she says when they finally pull apart. Her breath is coming out fast and it makes her voice all breathy. He looks a little worried, like maybe he thinks his convincing didn't work. "How do we tell Bluebell?"

He grins, and it's his church social smile. "We'll let them figure it out on their own."

* * *

_And we've reached the end! Thanks so much for following along, and I hope you've enjoyed this light-hearted little story! Reviews are lovely. _


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